


A Sickener

by alea_archivist (the_aleator)



Series: A Mere Appendix [14]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Crack, Fighting, Friendship, Gen, The Author Regrets Everything, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_aleator/pseuds/alea_archivist
Summary: Lestrade isn't sure what he expects to encounter in such a ramshackle mansion, but Mr. Holmes & Doctor Watson going to war with the Undead isn't it.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Series: A Mere Appendix [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636375
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9
Collections: Watson's Woes JWP Entries: 2013





	A Sickener

Lestrade was just about to knock on the rather scratched front door of the ramshackle mansion favored by the upper crust with less money and even less sense, when it rattled open, and John Watson’s arm shot forth like a bullet, snagged his collar and dragged him inside without so much as a ‘by your leave’.

“Have you been followed? Have you been seen?” Watson growled commandingly, looking the Inspector over from head to foot as he rocked from side to side, and his pistol hand (Lestrade noted keenly that there was in fact a pistol in it) shook minutely, as if it were sniffing for prey.

“By who, man? There isn’t anyone around for miles,” Lestrade protested, wondering privately if paying off his cabby and allowing him to go back to the station had been such a good idea.

“Anyone? No,” Watson said, and there was something grimly sardonic in the curve of his smile. “Something? Certainly.” His ensuing chuckles at his own good humour would have been enough to make a saint shiver, and Lestrade was certainly no saint. He murmured a quick prayer under his breath, straightened his face, and said as inquisitively as he dared

“Where is Mr. Holmes? He summoned me here about Vavasour Scowles,” Lestrade murmured “Or at the very least, what was left of him.”

“He was in the garret, when I left him, conducting surveillance.”

“Of whom?”

“The question is, Lestrade,” Watson said, as he trotted off down the passageway “of what.” Suddenly, Watson stopped short. “I do hope that you are armed,” He said and Lestrade patted his hip pocket, though he had no idea what the duce had gotten into the doctor.

They passed through several begrimed passageways, briskly walking by many doorways, including the cellar, which looked to be caked suspiciously in something akin to blood.

“It was the bowels in the firkin that really set Holmes off,” Watson was saying as they began to climb the spiral staircase. “That, and I should suspect the surrounding graveyard. Didn’t you notice it as you approached the drive?” Watson wondered, as he glanced sideways at his befuddled companion.

“I can’t say as I did,” Lestrade admitted. “Though this business about the firkin seems odd enough. Has Mr. Holmes any theories?”

Watson began to laugh, the soft persistent laugh of an entirely sane man confronted with the items of madness. It did not cheer Inspector Lestrade.

“WATSON!” Came a bellow from above them, and he recognized the educated tones of Holmes at his most energized. “I have need of you, my good fellow. Swiftly, if you please.” At once, Watson began to take the stairs three at a time, spinning his revolver’s chambers in a most nonchalant way.

Forced to follow at his heels, Lestrade was utterly unprepared for what he saw at the top of the staircase. Mr. Holmes, long sword in hands, keenly and coolly beheading the man in front of him. There were, in fact (and Lestrade took pains to notice), several people all clustering towards Mr. Holmes, arms out, drooling something awful, their clothes in utter disarray and their faces the utter mindlessness to be seen in the desperately mad.

“Mr. Holmes,” Lestrade cried, and he was quite proud of the fact that his voice did not quaver. “You just murdered that man.”

“Friend Lestrade,” Holmes rejoined mildly. “If it were a man, I should quite agree with you. Behind you Watson.” Swift as wink, Watson whirled about, drew back his hammer, and shot the poor fellow that was ascending the chandelier.

“But what are they then?” Lestrade asked confusedly.

“These are zombies, Lestrade and must be dealt with accordingly,” Watson shouted, taking two with one shot. “Haven’t you a weapon to hand? Get on with it, and perform your office.”

Taking in both the Doctor and Mr. Holmes hacking and shooting with the rapidity of professional soldiers, which Lestrade didn’t even want to know how they gained, he sighed and drew out his pistol.

“Shoot for the head.” Was Holmes’ only advice, and given Watson’s roar of “ _Alba gu brath!”_ Lestrade felt it best to enter into the battle. He took the nearest other weapon to hand, which was a dirk and barked “God Save the Queen!”

After all, if one were to encounter zombies, whatever they were, he supposed that Doctor Watson and Mr. Holmes were the best companions to have.

**Author's Note:**

> JWP #25 - Edward Gorey Challenge. This is based on "the Partition of Vavasour Scowles" from 'the Listing Attic'.


End file.
